Author's Note: Well, I hope those of you who read it enjoyed chapter one, and I'm sorry about the anonymous review thing; I forgot to allow it. Wow, lots of reviews for my first posted story. Anyway, I'd like to thank lemonjelly (always a loyal pal, and my first reviewer), BuzzkillBunny (critical, but it's what I wanted), FriendsHolic (cool name; I explained some of the stuff in note down below), bloodflower (a C2, thanks!), Catness (well, here's the other chapter you wanted), Ritaann (your review was like a work of art!) Prinnie (ah, thank you so much), Little Lunar Wolf (a raw talent? Oh, thank you.) and Sandy at Sea (well, this chapter might be a little better). I would appreciate reviews, but I won't beg. I would have probably gotten more if I had done a House/Cameron story, but that's not the way I ship; I can read it every once in a while, though. Okay, so thank you guys, and enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: Et al first chapter.
Spoiler: Et al first chapter, as of now.
Note: If anyone was confused about the last chapter, I'll explain it. It was basically saying she was going to have an abortion, like she tries to do in this chapter, and that she is not going to change her mind even if it is going to kill an innocent life. But when I say, "Even in the glory of dominance, he still had the audacity to murder," I am referring to House. At that point, he was thinking of taking no action against her decision, so House would blame himself for murdering their child, even though Cuddy wouldn't blame herself. But, at the end, he realizes that he must do something, otherwise his life will be like he is inside: a vast nothingness. I think that might help. This isn't my favorite chapter, but, it does have its moments.
Chapter Two: Shadow
She had always believed that shadows embodied insecurity.
"Cuddy, you embody insecurity. Are you always in denial?"
She was in denial, and he could see right through her mask. Prominence played a leading role in her life, but, she was insecure. Everyday, a mask would be adorned, shrouding her emotions with appearance. But, once in her domain, her pseudo portrait would be washed away by tears. The answer was simple: she was a clown, and will remain that way as long as she continued her reign of shallowness.
She hated her shadow, loathed every attribute of it and would do so until her death.
Her shadow showed her qualms, her flaws, all of her private matters. Especially one that was the cause of her unbearable yearning. Visibly, lust was victorious, and now, as a result, her shadow reflected it. Maybe that was why she adored the rain.
"You like the rain? I thought that's what killed your idol. You know, the Wicked Witch of the West."
When it rained, the light was overcome by a purifying force, like stars in the night sky being subjected to families of clouds washing over them. When there was no light, her shadow sunk back into her being, lurking the dark corners, harvesting her flaws and feeding on them.
But, when it rained, it also reminded her of life.
Without rain, life would not be. The earth would be desolate, a barren land of routine. Atoms would wander aimless in the vacuum of existence, and birth would be only an idea devised by spirits who criticized nature. The green legs of a child would be a mere photograph imprinted into the minds of emotionally- competent men and women, and the term "in utero" would float gently along the wind, the spawn of something submerged in a fantasy.
In utero.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, soft edges contrasting the magnitude this situation. It was as though she could feel House within her mind, mocking her cowardice, her insecurity, her doubts. His voice was a jangle of insanity, slowly searing through her like a fire from within. It began in her core, the rush of the ember like a blade, and it swelled. She could hear his laughing, yet, at the same time, she felt his tears.
And his tears mingled with the water streaming down her form in veins, transparent streaks morphing to her fair skin tone. That morning, her shower ran cold, as though she was numbing away the ache she had yet to feel, but, she saw it as more as preservation. If she could just trap the moment in the drop of water, it would never fade, but, she could still feel his tears.
And they were not shed for her; they for shed for the life within her about to be lost.
In her fragile state, she looked upon him as a God. He circled over her exposed form like a spirit, forever reminding her of the regretful actions she had committed. If she embodied insecurity, then he must have symbolized insanity.
"Insane? Me? No, you must be talking about Wilson… He didn't wear his Tuesday tie today."
It amazed her how he could easily transition the blame. It was as though he was a mirror, always showing the faults in others but never himself. But, every mirror had its cracks, and fortunately, she knew how most of them had come to be.
He was always hiding behind his pseudo personality, mocking others with secrets that had been hidden in their shadows.
Unfortunately, her shadow was not one to be gentle, or, even for that matter, kind.
Her shadow was like House.
She laid on the hospital bed, her breathing erratic, and her mind in a haze.
That's when she heard the familiar tap of his cane.
House.
It was as though they had entered a silent scene in a movie, the suspense building with every moment spared. Every action was magnified, and drama reigned over in its presence. His hand brushed past her face, and the syringe in the surgeon's fell to the ground, letting out a shrieking clatter as it went. Cuddy gazed upwards, emotions stumbling about her blue eyes, roaming in vague paths as though they were drunk on confusion. He took her hand, and led her out of the room, and, for a moment, he looked at her. Her slender form was obscured by the over-sized garment she wore, and she looked as vulnerable as a new born.
A new born.
He felt hisfear of exposure cooling him, patches of frigid skin coating his entire body. But, on his hands, he felt someone's skin. Her skin.
He touched her hips, his hands forming to her bone structure.
His lips tried to form the words with difficulty, but they were impeded by the sensation of someone else's pressed against them.
Her lips were like silk, softly caressing his, inebriating his mind even further.
That moment had been preserved in his mind, like an immortal being made of a single flame. It would forever scorch his conscience, an eternal burning that would one day overcome his better judgment and cause him to fall of his edge of sanity. Or had it already?
Sanity and insanity fell victim to the whirlwind of death that had devoured them, causing his logic to follow in their path.
"House, what are you doing!"
He had been staring at her subconsciously, for what reason, he did not know. Maybe it was because hehated her to a point whereit was no longerhatebut love, such as a place where extreme dislike morphed into a distorted sense of adoration like a bird with green wings that cannot fly.
And that bird was like their relationship. All the components needed were there, but, it just wouldn't work.
"Saving you."
He took a tighter hold on her hand, and he guided her along, as though they were following a complex warren. Each turn shook them; each twist rattled them, but they were not to be hindered by these formalities. The feeling of the silent movie had disappeared all together, leaving but one thing in its wake: reality.
Today, he had saved two vulnerable lives. But, what did it matter? It was his job.
"I don't need you telling me I do my job well, Cuddy. I've figured that out for myself."
Author's Note: Now for the end of chapter two, and I'll make this concise. You can review as you wish, —no flames please. I would greatly take pleasure in you doing so. Constructive criticism is welcome.
